


I walked you to the edge of the River Styx but now I have to go

by OktobersSon



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Josh Dun is a Sweetheart, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Second Chances, The Author Regrets Everything, honestly how did I forget that tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25709362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OktobersSon/pseuds/OktobersSon
Summary: Broke and having followed Tyler into the empty hell of drug addiction, Josh is barely surviving let alone living. When a chance encounter with a friend from their past offers a way back into the music scene and the support they need to get clean Josh finally has the wake up call and push he needs to try putting their life back together. There’s only one problem: Tyler. Too afraid to give up the only thing that quiets the darkness of his mind refuses to get clean with him.Essentially, at its bare-bones this is a story of learning to live in the daylight after only knowing the darkest nights for so long, even when it means leaving the one you love the most behind. Of learning how to be whole alone, rather than just one half of a whole. And what the destructive nature of a mind's demons can do to stifle even the brightest souls.***On Hiatus until YR is finished***
Relationships: Josh Dun/Tyler Joseph
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	I walked you to the edge of the River Styx but now I have to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introductions, a moment of their present day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The playlist I write this fic to can be found here in case you enjoy reading to music: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6syO6E0K8VkazTLJu24fq5

Their apartment is... A mess. That’s the most accurate word to describe it, but not the comfortable cluttering of a home that’s well lived in and well loved, theirs is the sort of mess that accumulates slowly, creeping in after a long time of neglect, the loss of hope a palpable smell in the air. It accurately sums up their life as it is now, over what it used to be, hope no longer an idea that has a place in their new world. 

Josh wanders through the dismal mess looking for a semi-clean shirt to put on following an accidental three hour nap; he’s been doing that lot recently, accidentally falling asleep in random places, at random times. He tries to consider if it could be a side effect of something more concerning but his brain is still too post-nap foggy for him to get past the initial thought before he’s already forgotten it. Picking his way through the detritus of their post-band life Josh narrowly avoids stepping on a broken bottle which at some unknown point had been left in the hallway; nearby to the bathroom he’d fallen asleep on the floor of. He remembers it’s existence only when his foot is hovering 2cm’s above the menacing little emerald shards, catching the wall with his right hand to keep from stepping on it,

“Not today broken bottle. I’ve still got glass stuck in my heel from last weekend,” he says despite not being entirely sure if it was last weekend, or the one before, or even the month before that. Continuing his journey through the small apartment he grabs a shirt here and there when he comes across them, not caring if they’re Tyler’s or his own, he gives each a sniff trying to gauge the cleanest, eventually settling on a pale mauve tee he found hung over the kitchen door. He thinks it’s his but can’t remember anymore, as with some much in their life together Josh has long since forgotten where he begins and Tyler ends; there is no ‘I’ only ‘they’. He knows reasonably that that isn’t a logical or healthy foundation for any relationship, but the pair passed logical and healthy so long ago he can’t even see the sign for it in the rear-view mirror. He discards the others he’d collected on the least cluttered counter as he passes through the kitchen, heading for the living room to check on Tyler. 

Josh does this a lot, checking on Tyler, used to be that he just wanted to make sure he’d eaten, remembered to hydrate recently or even just to know his best friend was nearby, but somewhere along the way his need to check on Tyler had become intertwined with his anxiety and now he checked on Tyler to make sure he hadn’t died during the hour or so Josh was passed out in a different room, to make sure Tyler hadn’t fallen asleep on his back and choked while Josh was out trying to make enough money so they could (hopefully) survive another week, another day, another night. 

He passes the dining table, resolutely not looking anywhere near it’s yellow ‘warning tape’ covered visage. Flipped onto one side with the legs pressed up against the wall the space in between had become the only ‘protected space’ in the whole apartment, a vault of sorts. Anything they weren’t allowed to sell, break or lose, as well as anything that held memories of the better times that were simply too painful to face anymore; Josh’s drumsticks had long since gone into the void, they hid behind the table. It was Tyler’s idea, he rarely ventured out of the living room and still needed somewhere to hide his secrets, so after they set up the cheap flat-pack table together and then got distracted before putting it upright (or buying the chairs to go with it) he’d initially shoved it into the corner and made a nest to sleep in. 

This was prior to ‘them’ (Josh) finding (stealing) a mattress for the bedroom, by the time he’d found and managed to get one back to the apartment Tyler had already moved to his preferred spot under the window on the opposite side of the room to the table, claiming his old makeshift bed now contained too many nightmares. After that he stopped venturing into the other rooms of the apartment without good reason, so the darkness behind the table became their version of a safe for ‘valuables’; Josh’s drumsticks, a family picture, a pressed yellow flower (he wasn’t sure where that came from but he assumed Tyler had a reason to void it), a flower printed kimono, documents expressing interest from music companies, in they all went never to see the light of day again. Josh still had yet to work out how, despite regularly pawning anything they could, neither of them ever broke the sanctity of the no-touch zone behind the table. 

Turning right into the small living space Josh made sure to keep his eyes on the floor as he picked his way across threadbare cream carpet, now stained mostly grey or worse having never seen a vacuum or pot of Vanish in its life, carefully avoiding discarded needles, bits of cotton-wool and crinkled aluminium foils, the castoff side effects that came with their ‘lifestyle’; Josh balked thinking of it as such, quickly correcting himself with his preferred label of ‘poor life choices’. This wasn’t  _ his  _ lifestyle. He didn’t choose this. This wasn’t his forever.

He approaches the small corner under the living room window where Tyler’s led on his side, back against the broken radiator, in a foetal position. He looks dead. Nowadays Tyler always looked dead when he slept so it didn’t alarm Josh too much, he drops to one knee next to the makeshift bed of couch cushions then holds the back of his hand in front of Tyler’s nose and mouth, checking he’s still breathing. Feeling warm shallow breaths ghost across his hand Josh relaxes, using the hem of his shirt to wipe some sweat from Tyler’s forehead and left temple, the sweat’s already cool on his skin so Josh looks around for something to cover Tyler with in an attempt keep him a little warmer, his body now too skinny and starved for nutrients to adequately warm him anymore. Josh’s body wasn’t much better, the muscle he’d taken pride in building prior to pitching himself down the drug strewn rabbit hole after Tyler had quickly wasted away as their addictions took hold, he was back to his pre-band days if not thinner. Self-consciousness over his body image had also quickly returned, taunting him about what he’d done to himself every chance it got; there was a reason most the mirrors in the house were not much more than shards on the floor. 

Taking delicate steps around the room to avoid getting stuck with used needles, or any of the other questionable sediment of their daily life that had been cast thoughtlessly to the floor, Josh checks both of their backpacks in the hope of locating a jacket or hoodie, finding neither he moves on, there’s a balled up sheet in the corner opposite Tyler’s, the way it’s been balled up tight and crammed small as possible into the corner makes him dubious to approach it but Tyler shifting and letting out a soft noise of disgruntlement reminds him of his intent to find something to cover him with so he goes anyway. His suspicions are quickly confirmed as he kneels to peer at it, gingerly pulling the sheet from its tight crumple. The sheet crunches apart just a little, but it’s enough for Josh to see it’s dried together with a grim mix of blood and puke. Tyler hadn’t been unable to out run all of his masochistic tendencies even in the deepest pits addiction, Josh picking up the bad habit shortly after. Meaning the carnage could realistically have been from either or both of them, but his memory is far too hazy these days for him to recall, in no position to judge and seeing as they were both still ‘alive’ he didn't let the ruined sheet bother him any longer than it took him acknowledge he couldn’t cover Tyler with it. 

Josh heads over to 2 duffle bags, still sitting against the back wall from when they’d moved into their current apartment, upon being evicted from the previous, they were now devoid of their original contents, most of it having been sold for quick dope cash. Josh made his way over to check the black and cargo-green duffles, curious of what they now contained, the answer is not much, but he does find a grey ratty hoodie partially strewn into one of them, as well as a black and red hand towel he distantly recognises as something he used to keep in the van for sweaty days on the road during their touring days; the van was shit and the ac never worked properly. The memory surprises Josh and he swiftly clamps down on it, wrestling it back into the dark lockbox he kept all his happy memories (except ' _the One'_ ) from before their descent into hell.

Returning to Tyler, Josh covers him with the hoodie and towel then perches on the edge of the couch cushion so Tyler was curved around him, gently running his fingers through Tyler’s short brown hair, not caring for the dirt or grease as he rubbed soothing circles into his scalp, Tylers only response was to mash his damp forehead into the side of Josh's thigh with a whimper. Josh allows himself a few quiet moments to just be with Tyler, if he closed his eyes he could almost pretend their life wasn’t hell, that Tyler was just sleeping off his latest show and Josh was just heading to out for some fresh air, or to grab them dinner, or whatever it was they used to in their sparse free time between venues. Before Tyler had gotten them into this mess, and Josh charged into hell after him but somehow completely fucked up the rescue. Checking the time Josh takes a deep breath, fortifying himself for the night ahead, he couldn’t put off heading out any longer. He leans down to kiss Tyler on the forehead then presses their foreheads together mentally begging Tyler to stay safe (don’t die please) while he's gone. 

He loiters once he gets a foot over the threshold of the front door, looking back to Tyler one more time, feeling the now familiar lump in the back of his throat and prickling behind his eyes he always felt when he had to leave in the evening, dreading the day he returned home to find Tyler 'gone'. Josh instinctively knew he would outlive Tyler, who'd fallen harder and faster than he had to the ruins of addiction, comparing the two of them would lead anyone to the same conclusion.  A grey pallor has long since taken over the naturally tanned undertone of Tyler's complexion, dark waxy bruises in permanent residence under his eyes, and when his eyes were open his soft brown gaze was eternally miles away drifting in the euphoria of a high or tiredly zoning out while awaiting his next hit. He is disturbingly thin, food now an all but forgotten malingering need from a previous life, the remnants of energy his frail frame can provide only spent on maintaining focus long enough to acquire his next dose. The weight of his sickness taking its toll throughout his body, breaking his spirit with the hunger and desperation only a man fearing dope sickness and longing to lose himself eternally to that specific veil of bliss can understand.

He looks every bit as sick as he is. And Josh hates himself a little bit more each time Tyler tells him he doesn’t feel up to going out today so Josh will go score for them both. Tyler says the same thing every day. Josh goes every day. They were stuck in the feedback loop of Tyler’s self hatred, didn’t want to get clean and face the demons he’d run from in the first place, hated that his habit was destroying Josh too, every time he picks the easier option and got high enough to hide from all of it. As long as Josh stayed, regardless of their joint addiction, it really didn’t matter enough if Josh destroyed himself in the process for Tyler to change.

At this point Josh feared going through dope sickness would kill Tyler anyway, so it didn’t matter any more if he did (not) want to get clean. They were fucked either way.

He crosses the threshold, quietly shutting the door behind him, not bothering to bring a key (the lock would never be fixed).

**END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want Tyler to come across as pitiful over seeming like a an asshole, so do let me know if I'm getting the balance right.
> 
> I can't promise a chapter a day atm because Youth Reviled takes precedence, and honestly this is a hard one to write mostly because I'm drawing a lot on my own history for this one (although it is a work of fiction so liberties will be taken) so I do need a little moment between writing chapters just to breath and come back to the present.
> 
> I'm very much trying to make their life sound painful, and gross, and difficult on purpose, I'm not trying to demonise anyone however, but at the same time I really don't want glamorise what they're going to through unduly because there is nothing glamorous about the sickness of addiction.
> 
> Remember every comment, kudos, bookmark and subscription really encourages me to keep going because I know someone out there wants to see more, thanks for reading. Novi - OktobersSon // @novioktober on Tumblr


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